Wolf
by Astion
Summary: It is the third century of the Third Era, and the mer of House Dres encroach further on the borders of the Black Marsh. A dark augury, cast by an Argonian shaman, reveals an omen that could spell the end of the Hist... or ultimate absolution of Argonia.
1. Prelude

_**Prologue**_

**_o_**

_I was born some sixty years ago, in the pseudo-province known commonly as the Black Marsh, and to the Elves as Argonia. Our community was nothing like the grand cities and interlinked conurbations Morrowind has: It was nothing but a small, backwater village, consisting of a few wattle and treetop huts. By nearly all standards, we were a tribe of primitive savages._

_We were reviled among the "civilised" people of the rest of the world. However, we were simply happy to live off the land and among the plants and animals of our homecountry. In our eyes, they were the savages, not us. After all, was it not they who made frequent expeditions into our territory to capture our friends and kin, who were never seen alive again?_

**_o_**

It was a large day.

The wind was still in the leaves. The great sun was low in the sky, washing a wave of gold through the thick ferns and wise trees. Its fire was dimmed by its fall through the canopy, but its warmth flowed throughout. The cracked sky glimpsed through the thick foliage darkened as the sun fell in its arc, giving way to the lights of night.

The air. The air was heavy with scent, of sweet leaf-rot and of dark water. It was filled with sound - the cries of the small creatures of the world, the songs of birds, and the call of the prey in the far distance as the hunters stalked. Underfoot the creepers crept, overhead the leapers leapt. There was life in this green world.

Life.

Further on through the thick ferns and wise trees, difficult to see, was a low wattle home, nestled in the roots of a great tree. The shadow of the great one spread across the humble hut, enshrouding it protectively. From inside came croonings, cries of maternal pain; Life. The creatures of the world without stopped a moment, as if to listen. And then the womb was broken, a new birth! And then silence once again, and the swamp resumed its chorus.

Yes, this was a large day, indeed.

News of the birthing spread quickly, for this was no ordinary nestling.

The clanspeople came, one by one, to pay their tributes; they brought offerings of food, tanned leather, bark etchings, and wood carvings to the parents. Most chose to leave their gifts by the door of the hut. Some chose to deliver them in person, paying their respects to the mothre, Natun-Ei, the tribe shaman. She would accept their gifts graciously, blessing them for their courtesy, but would bid them to be on their way quickly, almost in curt fashion.

Ahahtahn, mate of Natun-Ei, was a hunter. Quick and silent in step and with a strong spear arm, he was widely regarded in the tribe as the most skilled stalker in the tribe's territory. But hunters such as he could sometimes be gone for days, even weeks in their excursions, and on the whole Natun-Ei saw little of him.

Two days after the nestling was birthed, Ahahtahn returned from his hunt.

'_He is a strong child._' He remarked upon inspecting his offspring. '_You have borne me a fine son, sistre._'

'_I am glad that you are pleased, brothre._' Natun-Ei replied, coming to stand close to her mate and looking down into the nest where their offspring lay. He was yet small, only a handspan in length, far smaller than a manchild of the same age. His scales, still soft and vulnerable, were like those of Natun-Ei, pale tan, but a streak of Ahahtahn's red ran from the tip of his tail to the tip of his snout. Ahahtahn crouched low, and ran the tip of his clawed finger over the youngling's head. He felt the tiny protrusions along the top of his head and his cheeks. At his touch, his son squirmed, crying out in his small voice.

'_This one shall have a fine crest._' Ahahtahn announced proudly. His own horns were a sight to behold - Totaling thirty-two, they jutted out from his forehead, skull and cheeks in a fearsome display. The Argonian's crest was considered a mark of his prowess in all areas of life, and was one of his most prized possessions. '_We shall train him to be a great hunter._' He traced the child's tiny arms and legs, with something that was almost a human smile. '_How strong he will be!_'

He rose from his haunches, and turned to his wife. '_While you were undergoing this exploit, the hunters and I earned success in our own._' He informed her. '_Tonight the tribe shall celebrate your deed.'_

He touched her shoulder, and they gave each other a perfectly synchronous, grave nod. '_I shall see you this evening, sistre. I am proud.' _They nuzzled briefly, then Ahahtahn stepped out of the hut, heading through the trees to the greater village nearby.

Natun-Ei watched him leave. Her child squirmed again and cried, this time in hunger. She retrieved a bird's egg from the floor of the hut where the other offerings had been piled, and cracked it open. Carefully separating the white from the yolk, she dripped the nutritious yellow substance into the open mouth of the youngling. He stopped squealing, opening and closing his tiny jaws in delight as it covered his face. With her claw, she scooped the spilled yolk up from his cheeks and dribbled it again into his mouth. Fully fed, the nestling stretched its limbs with a wide yawn, and was immediately asleep.

She took the other half of the eggshell, thoughtfully draining the eggwhite from it as she watched her child sleep. This was her first child, and she knew that she should feel glad for his life, but for some reason she felt... uneasy... when she looked upon him.

She rose and retrieved a wooden bowl from the floor of the hut. She deposited an assortment of bones, feathers and pebbles in the bowl, and spat into it. Then she turned it over, and bent to examine the pattern. What she saw troubled her.

She repeated the process again, with no change in the prediction. She looked over into the nest where her son slept. This one's life would be interesting, to be sure. Interesting, and eventful... but if what her shamanic magicks told her was true, it would also be a life of great strife, and suffering.

She looked down at the pattern on the floor again. She reached into its exact center, lifting a downy feather from the ground, and holding it up to inspect it. It was brilliant blue, of the fisher-marsh-bird, the kind that flew dove into the water to snatch fish from the depths, and which when evening fell would fill the air with its clear song.

_And of triumph. _She decided, almost reverently depositing the feather next to her sleeping son. _His will be a life of triumph._

And, in the trees, the marsh-bird-song began.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1 – First Blood_

**o**

_The men and mer of the lands beyond the Marsh find Argonian society - if indeed it can even be called that - exceedingly strange. _

_Since the Cracking of the Egg, my people have lived according to a philosophy of harmony, that of yourself and your clansmen. This manner of communalism not often understood by warm-bloods, who hold personal prowess above all. It is a far cry from the governments and monarchies of the rest of the Empire. _

_Possibly even more distant from the human mind are our beliefs. Humans and Elves generally pay homage to a variety of spirits, to whom they grovel for protection, prosperity, and even forgiveness. To an Argonian, this would be nothing short of absurd. Prosperity is not granted - it is earned. And forgiveness? What is there to be forgiven for?_

_And as for protection... well... there is much ink for that subject, but at a later time._

**o**

_**The Third Era, Year 370**_

The swamp was dark. Tendrils of mist curled around the trunks of the ancient, gnarled trees, and the touch of it was chill to the skin. Far above, the clouds flashed and roiled, shaking the trees with sound that threatened to split the sky asunder. The rainwater dripped down from the branches and leaves of the old men of the marsh, who stood like monoliths to an old and forgotten faith.

Slowly, two reptilian figures came into view, emerging from the fog enshrouding the rain-swept trees, which seemed to watch them as they passed.

The younger of the two, hardly more than a nestling, was afraid. He had not even come into his horns yet, the top of his head only coming up to the thighs of his elder. This was his first time away from the protected seclusion of the village, and the shadows of the marsh seemed deep and dark. He stayed close to his fathre, trying his best to mimic his methodical pace. Ahahtahn's clawed feet made absolutely no sound on the rotting leaves, and the older lizard did not stir a ripple as they waded through the murky bogs, and yet he still kept such a fast, powerful pace that the child almost could not keep up.

They had been traveling for almost two days now. The young Argonian did not understand why his fathre had brought him so far from home. He had offered no explanation, merely saying that it would be an important first step for him. He hadn't wanted to go, but if Ahahtahn wanted his company, he could do nothing to refuse. Natun-Ei had been as tight-lipped as he, but as Ahahtahn delivered the final word, he had seen them nod understandingly to each other. Whatever the reason Ahahtahn had brought him on this journey, it was a grave one.

Ahahtahn suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He held up his clawed hand and uttered a low hiss, signaling for his child to stop and be silent. The child looked up at his parent; his horned head silhouetted against the dimly lit canopy, Ahahtahn stood stock still, sniffing the air. The elder Argonian looked around, peering through the darkened trees. The child looked also, but saw nothing.

Ahahtahn crouched down on his haunches, laid his spear on the ground, and spent a long moment studying the marsh grass and rotting leaves on the ground in front of him, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on the moist soil.

He brought his head up sharply. The child, who had been watching his fathre's hands, followed suit - and hissed in shock and fear. It was visible for only a moment, a massive, lithe form in the fog ahead of them: yellow, slit-pupiled eyes set into a fearsome feline skull; slightly parted jaws, lined with teeth that glistened with saliva. It growled, a sinister sound, and then it turned, and bounded off into the marsh.

Now the child realised that, without a doubt, that this was what his fathre had brought him to see. Ahahtahn's eyes gleamed in the darkness. He patted the shoulder of his son twice, and then resumed his furious, silent stalk.

The child hurried after him, almost too afraid to go on. All he could picture in his young mind were those terrible yellow eyes, and the hungry glow he had seen within them. He had seen an ancient, primal fury behind those slit pupils; the big cat's rage at their intrusion into its territory, and also its blood-eagerness, the smell of a prey walking into its grasp. He realised he had seen this same hunger in Ahahtahn's eyes, and the child shivered, suddenly and briefly afraid of his own fathre. The older Argonian sped up, leaping over rotting logs, crashing through low-hanging branches, holding his spear level at his side. It was all that the child could do to keep up; clambering clumsily over fallen trees and more than once feeling his feet falter, desperately trying to keep Ahahtahn in his sight.

In the corner of his eye, there was a flicker of movement; a great black shape that moved swiftly on its padded feet. There was a brief flash of gold as a streak of moon fell across its eye, and then it thundered ahead, disappearing into the dark.

The young Argonian stumbled to a halt. Inexperienced in the ways of the hunt as he was, he knew instinctively what the cat had done. Now it stood between him and the only one who could defend him. Paralyzed with indecision, the child stood rooted to the spot and shivering. He called out to his fathre for help, but no answer came. Suddenly the marsh seemed utterly still.

From directly ahead came heavy padded footfalls; the cat, it's back arched and jaws opened in a thunderous roar, flew out of the darkness at him. The impact of the mass of fur and muscle knocked the young Argonian from his feet, winding him. The cat, having overjudged the speed of its attack, tumbled overtop of him, coming to rest in a sprawled heap.

As he lay curled up on the ground, gasping for breath, the Argonian child watched in horror as the cat quickly regained its feet, turning its yellow eyes on him. It uttered a low growl, moving slowly yet inexorably toward him. His mind screamed at him to flee, but he couldn't move, either for fear or for whatever injuries the cat might have caused him.

Suddenly, there was a rush of air, and the befeathered haft of a slender spear struck the cat hard on the side of the head. It flinched, surprised at its own failure to notice its attacker's approach. It was Ahahtahn, bent low and holding his spear pointed at the beast's neck. It snarled and backed away slightly, eyeing the spear with caution as the Argonian hunter stepped forward to block the animal's way.

Ahahtahn began to move sideways, his steps small and careful, keeping the spear leveled at the cat. He flicked the spear's point closer to the animal's head, more as an attempt to intimidate than to injure, clicking his tongue harshly as he did so. It shied way, snarling angrily as it retreated a step.

Reptile and feline faced each other squarely, circling around each other as the rain and thunder intensified, the lightning casting a stark light across the scene of the impending melee. The big cat looked for an opening, trying to reach his intended prey, but Ahahtahn foiled each bid, delivering sharp, powerful blows to the side of its head every time it made a move, enraging the animal still further. The Argonian boy looked on in horror.

Now thoroughly incensed by the boldness of the interloper, the beast swept its paw, batting the spear out of the way. Again, Ahahtahn stepped in its path, spun the haft of his spear around and struck it squarely in the jaw, hissing a sharp challenge to the animal. The cat roared in rage, its patience spent, and leapt for Ahahtahn's neck.

The Argonian was fast on his defense, and the cat's jaws caught on the shaft of the spear. One of its clawed paws caught Ahahtahn in the shoulder, raking three deep gashes half the length down to his elbow. The blood began to flow, but the Argonian showed no sign of pain. The triumphant beast, having drawn the first blood, disengaged his jaws around the shaft of the spear, raising its claw for another strike...

...which Ahahtahn had been waiting for. The Argonian kicked out with his powerful right leg, sending the great cat sailing away from him. It landed heavily on the marsh floor, and tried to scramble to its feet, but the lithe hunter had already pounced, brining the point of his spear down on the animal. It sank deeply into its shoulder, the barbs on the blade catching in its flesh. The wounded beast roared in pain as Ahahtahn jumped quickly away, the damage done.

Growling in fury, Ahahtahn's spear still embedded in its side, it dragged itself to its feet. It stumbled forward a few steps toward its enemy, baring its teeth, but its legs gave way beneath it. It sagged and fell to the ground with a defeated sigh.

Ahahtahn slowed his breathing. The fight was over. He stepped closer to the still form of the cat. Sinking to his knees, he studied the animal, admiring the strong muscles beneath its thick black fur. It was a fine catch.

He turned his head to look at where his son lay, still in the grip of shock. He gestured to him with the hand of his uninjured arm. '_Come closer, child,_' he said, _'It will not harm you._'

With a last, fearful glance that the body of the huge cat, the young Argonian crawled closer to his fathre on his hands and knees. Staying as far as he could from the animal, he drew close to his fathre. He touched his snout to Ahahtahn's injured shoulder, and began to lick it clean.

'_My wounds will heal, son._' Ahahntahn told the boy comfortingly.'_I shall not die tonight._'

Suddenly the cat's shoulders heaved, a growl of pain issuing from its mouth. The boy started, and scrambled a short distance away.

'_He is dying. He does not have strength left to harm you with._' Ahahtahn said. '_Come closer. There is something you must see_.'

Reluctantly, the Argonian boy returned to his fathre's side. Ahatahn reached out, grasping the haft of the spear. The cat roared in agony as he heaved, and the spear slid out of its flesh. Ahahtahn laid the bloodied spear down, and put a hand to his hip, where a sharp bone knife hung from a piece of leather. '_Give me your hand._'

Puzzled, the child held out his hand to his fathre. Ahahtahn grasped his wrist firmly, and drew the blade of the knife across the palm of his hand.

The child squealed in surprise and pain, jumping away as his fathre's grip slackened. Hurt and frightened, he held his hand up to his face. In the sparse moonlight that filtered between the rainclouds, he saw blood running down his fingers.

'_The cut is not deep._' Ahahtahn said to him. '_It shall heal soon. Now come here. There is something you must see. It is something wonderful._'

The child was frightened as he approached Ahahtahn again, and shied when his fathre reached out to him, but when his hand grasped his shoulder his touch was gentle once again. Still cradling his hand, the boy allowed himself to be led to the cat's side.

Ahahtahn took his son's hand, and laid it on the glossy fur of the cat, close to the gash the spear had made. The young Argonian could feel the animal's laboured breath beneath his hand, flowing through its throat. Its eyes were closed, but it was still fully awake and aware of their presence.

'_Now look,_' Ahahtahn said as he drew close, holding out his injured arm, indicating the deep cuts that the cat had torn in it and the blood that flowed down it. '_We share the same blood. Is it not wonderful, my child?'_

The Argonian boy stared. The crimson fluid from his hand dripped onto the cat's fur, merging with the beast's as it bubbled from its mortal wound. The rain washed the blood from the cat's neck, and as it began to pool around them in the dark soil, the child began to feel as if he was beginning to understand what his fathre had brought him here to discover.

'_This is important to remember, my child._' Ahahtahn continued. '_When we hurt, we all bleed. We all breathe of air. Though we creatures of the swamp hunt each other, we kill as part of a neverending cycle. This is life, my child. This is the world and the way it is._' The cat shuddered, but the boy was no longer afraid. It opened its glazed eyes to look at the two figures crouched over it in an almost supplicatory way.

Ahahtahn touched the boy's shoulder, holding out the bone knife. '_Now you must give him what he wants._' He took the boy's injured hand away from the cat's neck, and placed it above its heart. '_Here.'_

The boy took the knife in his good hand. He found he was shivering, but not because of the rain. He now knew exactly what was expected of him. This was to be his first kill. Even so, the knife felt strangely heavy in his hands. And he lowered it, wavering.

The cat groaned in pain, a froth coming to its mouth. Ahahtahn took the boy's hand, holding it level over the cat's heart and steadying it. '_Do not prolong his suffering, child. Give him mercy._'

The child hesitated again, but Ahahtahn strengthened his insistent grip on his wrist. He grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and plunged the knife into the cat's side. Ahahtahn put his own strength behind the blade as well; all he had needed from his son was his willingness to kill with the knowledge of his kinship with the animal, so that he would be able to fend for himself and his tribe when he was old. The boy felt the faltering pulses of the cat's heart in the hilt, and let go. He clung to his fathre in his sorrow.

'_Thank you, great one._' Ahahtahn said to the cat as the foam at its mouth became a bloody froth, and its breathing ceased. '_Thank you for giving up your life and your flesh so that we may live._' Then he put his arms gently around his son, crooning to him.


	3. Chapter 2

T_hough we lived in the darkest reaches of the continent, as far from civilisation as it was possible to be, there were dangers from beyond the tribal territory's borders. They came from the north, from beyond the Marshes – merciless warriors wielding fearsome, alien weapons and clad in armour that stank of death; They spoke in strange, guttural tongues, and their remorseless eyes burned with a baleful red fire. _

_This threat was nothing new. My kind had known enmity with this evil people since the beginning. They killed the weak and old, and the dead received neither honorable interment nor even the charity of being consumed and their bodies returned to the green. They were burned, and their ashes left to be scattered by the wind. But worse still, their purpose for invasion: Any able-bodied Argonian was captured, and taken away to the vast plantations at the edge of the Marsh. There, they would toil for the remainder of their years, so near to home and yet denied hope of ever returning to it._

_These people – the "Dunmer", as they called themselves – were considered by our primitive Argonian society to be demons; parasites. They disrupted the world's way, forcing others to do their work, feeding off our brothres and sistres' labours, encroaching on our territory, and above all, the inexcusable desecration of the felling the Trees. These people… these things, did not deserve even to be considered as being alive, so great were their transgressions._

_No Argonian child ever fully escaped the horror of their raids, and I was no different._

_**o**_

_**The Third Era, Year 372**_

There were many, many trees in the Marsh. But the one near the edge of the village, the one that watched over the house of the Shaman and her mate, was special.

There was no other tree like it for many leagues around. It was ancient, perhaps as old as the Marsh itself. Its majestic, gnarled form towered above the village, spreading its flying branches toward the sky. It was very, very different from the other plants that it dwarfed, and yet uncannily similar to all of them, for it was one of an ancient race into which life was first breathed and from which all things green descended. It was no mere tree – it was a Hist, and it was central to the life of the community that it protected, and was protected by.

It was among the roots of this Tree that Natun-Ei told stories to the young ones of the tribe, and in doing so taught them of life and the world. She was the greatest teller of tales in the entire village, and always held the nestlings spellbound when she taught them. Sometimes she would even use her shamanic magicks to accent the tale: with a gesture she could call forth a breeze to stir the marsh grass; with a command she could cause a twig to snap. The young ones knew no greater pleasure than to listen to her fables.

One day, she told them of agone times, when the world was still young and fresh.

'_It was very different, then from now,' _the tale began. Natun-Ei sat on a high root, with the young ones seated all around, in the hollows between the roots and on the ground, so that all could see her. The evening sky above had begun to show the first signs of the coming downpour, clouds moving in to block the sun. '_We alone were masters of the land. The others – the elves and the mancreatures – had not yet come. The land was much greater, and the marshes went on for miles and miles to the south and east. The creatures were plentiful and the trees gave much fruit. It was a good time._

_Things began to change when the elves first came. They left their own homeland and came across the sea from the south. For a while, elves and Root People lived without intent to harm the other. We watched them from the swamps, and they us from the plains. _

_Then men came also, from the north and west. There was much hate between the elves and men, and there was a great war. At first, we had no cause to fear either side, until they came to our marshes for its wood. We fought, trying to drive them away from the swamps, but they were strong in war and wove great magicks against us. We had to give way to their encroachment, until we were all but ousted from our homelands._

_Then came the terrible climax of the war. The elves, seeking a quick end and dominion over all, unleashed a dweomer too powerful for them to control, and the land was changed forever.'_

There was a crack of thunder from high above, and the nestling jumped. Natun-Ei paused a moment, looking thoughtfully into the darkening sky.

'_The world our kind once knew was no more. Our land sank beneath the sea, along with our great forests, and our beloved Trees began to dwindle in number. With fewer Hist to protect us and give us guidance, the Root People also began to slowly decline. Unable to procreate without the Hist sap and wandering, homeless, many tribes faded and died out._

_But that was only the beginning of our troubles. After obtaining dominion and chastised by their great transgression, the elves retreated to their island to rebuild their civilisation. There arose different creeds among them, and the elves divided. One group, now called the Changed Ones, left the island and traveled across the continent to settle in the lands to the north. That was the beginning of the world we live in now.'_

The young ones were dourly silent as the tale concluded. There was no need for Natun-Ei to elaborate. '_How many of the Trees are there left, Mothre?' _asked one of them.

'_Not enough._' Natun-Ei said sadly. _'Our numbers have dwindled greatly since the old times, and as a people we will never be as great and prosperous as we were before. There are enough Hist to sustain us, but now with the descendants of the Changed Ones felling our trees, I fear there is not much time left for our kind.'_

'_It is not right.' _saidNatun-Ei's son, who rose to his feet, clenching his claws._ 'It is evil and unforgivable to have such disregard for others you share the land with. Something must be done!'_

Natun-Ei regarded her offspring with a curious mixture of pride and pity. _'No, it is not right.'_ She said finally, _'and yes, it is evil. But nothing can be done. Do you not think we have tried, child? The _Dunmer_ are too powerful for us to overcome. There weapons are fearsome, and their magicks greater than our own. It is the world and the way it is, my son. The weak must pass before the strong.'_

'_It is not fair. I cannot believe that this is the world._' The boy stood trembling with a passionate fury that Natun-Ei had barely seen in People of much greater age, let alone in children that have not as yet come to be named. There was something terrible in his eye that almost frightened her. '_When I am older, _I _will drive the demons from our land._'

The rest of the children were amused, but Natun-Ei looked thoughtfully at her offspring, as if actually considering his outrageous promise. He was so determined in his manner that she almost believed him. But in the end she shook her head gently. '_You are brave, my son, but you are also young. I am afraid that soon you will come to know the ways of the world as it is. Every one of our people wishes the same thing as you, but it just cannot be.'_

The child shook his head furiously and growled, but he had no time to reply. At that moment, there was a call from the swamps. It was the voice of Ahahtahn, and it was raised in urgency.

'_Go to your homes, children._' Natun-Ei commanded, gently but firmly. The young ones rose as one and scurried off to their mothres, save for her own child.

'_Go, young one.' _She commanded, more strictly. '_There might be danger._'

'_I will protect you, Mothre.'_

'_I don't need anyone to protect me, child.'_ Natun-Ei said, her tone verging on harsh. _'If you wish to stay, then go behind the Tree and hide._'

The boy considered this, then did as he was told. He waited and listened. There was another call from the marsh, and Natun-Ei answered it. There was the sound of movement in the undergrowth. The boy raised his head to look over the root he was hiding behind.

It was the party of hunters that had left two days ago. They emerged from the marsh, Ahahtahn in their lead. The boy noted at once that their numbers were fewer. The two hunters bringing up the rear carried a stretcher. Upon the stretcher lay the battered, bleeding body of one of the hunters. Natun-Ei took in the situation immediately, and motioned the two stretcher bearers forward.

'_Bring him inside,' _She said, gesturing towards her hut beneath the tree. As the two obeyed, she turned to her mate. '_What happened?'_

'Dunmer.' Ahahtahn spoke the word with vitriolic hatred. '_We met them on our hunt. They captured two of us, and killed three more. Zul-Tei is barely living.'_

'_How far away?'_

'_Less than a day.'_

The boy's blood suddenly ran cold. He knew that the Dunmer were drawing closer by the minute with one goal in their villainous minds. They would kill the children and take the elders prisoner. There would be blood before the sun reached its apex tomorrow. He was afraid, but at the same time exhilarated that he would finally see his enemy's face, and know the object of his hatred.

Natun-Ei went to tend to Zul-Tei's wounds, but not even her magicks could save him from his injuries. The boy went to his fathre to comfort him, but Ahahtahn barked at his son to be gone with unusual sternness.

**o**

The storm that raged through the night seemed to play herald to the violence that would come when day came. Even the blood red dawn sky carried a grave portent. The Argonians had been given sufficient time to prepare. Deadfalls had been dug and covered with hackle-lo leaf. Sharpened stakes carved from merrow stalks had been fashioned and arranged about the lip of the basin in which the village lay. In the trees, spearsmen lay in wait to ambush their ancient enemy as they passed below.

In the hut beneath the Hist Tree, Natun-Ei sat on a cushion of reeds in pensive thought. She watched her son, who sat dourly contemplating the spear in his lap. It was not the spear of a hunter. It was hardly more than a toy, but it was well made and the stone blade was sharp enough to maim. Thus far it had never been used on any living thing other than birds and lizards, but from her son's dire expression and his tirade the day before, Natun-Ei had no doubt that her son had intent to use it on their malefactors.

'_You will stay here while the men fight, child.'_ She said firmly. _'You are yet too young to see battle, and our enemies are too strong for you.'_

The boy looked at his mothre as if to protest, but instead nodded grudgingly.

'_Keep your spear with you, but don't use it if you don't have to. Hide in the hut and don't come out until the fighting ends.'_

'_I understand, Natun-Ei.'_ The child replied, a hint of indignance in his tone.

'_Good.' _Natun-Ei said, her tone becoming stern at his impudence. Then her expression softened, and she rose to her feet to lay a benedictive hand on her son's head. '_I shall see you after, my son. The Tree protect you.' _

The Argonians did not have long to wait for their enemy to arrive. Before long, the sounds of the swamp ceased, and an ominous silence descended on the village. The sound of breaking undergrowth and raucous shouts were heard in the distance. The village warriors waited for the Dunmer to draw near, tensing on their branches and slowing their breathing, hidden among the leaves.

There were barked orders from the Dunmer, and the sounds of disturbed foliage began to spread. It was now clear to the Argonians that this was no mere raid. This was a full-fledged invasion. The Dunmer would not break off their attack until all the villagers were captured or killed, or if they were defeated. When the invaders finally emerged from the swamp, they were revealed to be clad in the sickly bone armour that they were fond of wearing. They carried a wide variety of weapons, from long metal blades to clubs and maces. Bringing up the rear were lightly armoured archers, arrows half-drawn in their shortbows.

Ahahtahn peered down from the tree that he and his stalkers were hidden in. A grimace of dark amusement spread across his fearsome visage as the interlopers passed below, oblivious to what lurked above them. He surveyed their ranks with a calculative eye. Ambushing the leading warriors would be folly; the elven warriors would hold them at bay with their swords and shields while the archers peppered the defenders with arrows. Instead, Ahahtahn held up a clawed hand, signaling to the others to wait. Then, as the archers passed below, he gave a fierce hissing signal, and they dropped from the branches.

The bowmen were defenseless. Surprised and disoriented by the sudden attack, some dropped their bows to fumble for their daggers, only to be impaled on the hunters' spears. Others managed to loose their arrows, but in their haste the projectiles spun awry, imbedding themselves in trees and falling into pools of mire. By the time the warriors ahead realised what had happened, the vast majority of the archers had already been killed.

Enraged, the warriors wheeled around with hateful snarls, raising their grotesque shields and charging at the Argonians. The lizardmen came forward to meet their advance, but moving at a slow, methodical pace. Every Argonian knew the bonemold shields to be impenetrable against their spears, and that a blind charge would avail them nothing.

The Argonians waited until the last possible moment. Many of the elves who lowered their shields only a few inches to make way for their swords and maces were impaled through the face by the lizardmen's spears. The Argonians' quickness of eye foiled any attempts to sneak a blow through, and eventually the Dunmer were reduced to cowering behind their shields and retreating as the Argonians began their own advance. With the elves on the defensive, the Argonians no longer had any need even to attack. All they needed to do was herd the elves to the lip of the basin, and spring the final trap.

At the edge of the basin, the Argonians rushed forward, throwing themselves against their enemies' shields. Overbalanced by their heavy armour, the Dunmer stumbled and fell, rolling down the slope, where the sharpened stakes had been erected.

The battle was far from over. Though the elves' considerable numbers had been cut down to a more manageable amount, they still had sturdier armour and crueler weapons than their primal adversaries. The Argonians, in addition, could no longer use the land and foliage to their advantage in the glade that the village was built in. Now the way the day was carried depended on the skill and heart of the warriors alone.

In Natun-Ei's hut, the Argonian boy listened raptly to the sounds of violence beyond the wattle walls, gripping the spear he clutched in his lap tightly in his hands. He couldn't help but worry. Though he was still young, he knew the circumstances. He wanted to be among the hunters and warriors as they fought to protect their families from the Dunmer scourge, but Natun-Ei's words held him in check.

From outside there was the sound of heavy footfalls, and of voices speaking urgently in a guttural language. The boy froze, halfway between terror and excitation, knowing that there were Dunmer just outside the hut. He was silent, listening for several seconds, and was suddenly aware that nothing was happening – no one had come to kill the Dunmer.

Suddenly doubt entered his mind. The Dunmer were right outside the hut, beside the Tree that was so important to the village. Had no one seen them? His stomach knotted at the thought of the defenselessness of the Hist, and what the elves might do to it if no-one intervened.

Finally, worry won out over discipline, and he slipped out the door of the hut. He darted behind the root he had hidden behind the previous day, peering cautiously out from behind it.

There were two of them, crouched among the roots of the tree. Both were apparently archers who had survived the hunters' ambush – they held shortbows in their hands and wore quivers on their backs. One, leaner than the other, wore leather armour and a sword sheathed at his belt. The other had a cruel axe slung over his back, and was garbed in the skin of a strange animal.

'I don't think they saw us.' Said the larger elf in the hide armour. 'I hope not.'

'Quick, Thayver.' urged the other, glancing furtively around to make sure that they had not been spotted. 'Get your axe. Kill the tree and the lizards give up. That's what the captain said.'

'I don't like this.' Replied his companion, looking up into the boughs of the tree. 'This thing's way too big to just cut down in a minute. Do you think we actually have the time for anything of this sort at a time like this?' He gestured to the knots of combat around the basin.

'You don't have to cut the whole thing down, numbwit.' The first elf hissed. 'Just hack its roots off. A tree's just a pile of wood without its roots. As for the Argonians, they're too busy fighting off our confederates. Now hurry!'

'Alright, already.' The hide-clad elf said exasperatedly, setting aside his bow and taking the axe from his back. 'Stupid tree…'

The boy understood nothing of what they said, but their intents became terribly clear when the second elf hefted his axe. The Tree! They were going to cut the Tree! His eyes flared with hatred as he recalled the tale his mothre had told the day before. His blood began to boil as he thought of the injustice. Without a second thought, he dashed forward, spear in hand.

Neither of the elves saw the Argonian boy running towards them until he was almost upon them. The one with the bow shouted a warning to his companion, too late. The boy leapt forward, burying the stone tip of his spear into the axe man's back. The blade found a seam in the man's thick fur armour, penetrating deeply into his flesh. The elf gave a strangled cry, dropping his axe as he collapsed into the mud.

Even the boy was surprised at the lethality of the attack. The other Dunmer roared, throwing his bow aside and drawing his sword. The boy tugged on the haft of his spear, trying to wrench it from the man's torso, without success. The Dunmer lunged, and the Argonian boy had to spring away to avoid the deadly blade.

'N'wah brat!' the Dunmer snarled, his sword glinting menacingly in the morning sun as he advanced on the boy. The Argonian child stumbled backward and away from the elf, his luck having suddenly run out. Realising he had no other choice, he turned and scurried back into the hut.

He only after he was inside did he realise his error. He was trapped. He turned to run for the door, but the Dunmer already barred his way.

The boy stood motionless. The elf's baleful red eyes seemed to affect the same paralysis on him as the yellow glare of the great cat had had. The elf raised his sword above his head to cut the boy down. Death seemed as certain as it had in the darkened glade two years back.

This time, it was not his fathre that saved him, but his mothre. Suddenly, Natun-Ei stood in the door, hissing in challenge to the Dunmer. Seeing his way barred, the Dunmer seized the boy by his shoulders, pulling him close and leveling his sword across the child's neck 'Stand back or I kill him, lizard bitch!' he spat.

Natun-Ei did not waver for a second. She held one clawed hand up, and the Dunmer, unsure of what she intended to do, drew himself up to cut the boy's throat. The Argonian woman saw his intentions instantly.

She barked a hissing syllable, extending her other arm, the fingers of her hand spread. There was a low thrumming sensation in the air, and the Dunmer froze, wide-eyed as he felt the spell take hold of him. The sword fell from his grasp as it went to his throat. He gagged, and his grip on the boy's neck slackened, allowing him to worm free and scramble to his mothre.

The shaman did not relent, even after her son had been released. She closed her fist, and the Dunmer doubled over in pain. He looked up at her, and as he recognized the object she held in her hand he began to beg, pleading in his ugly language as the colour drained from his face. A thin grey mist emerged from his mouth and nostrils and from the sockets of his eyes, swirling and collecting into a ball of smoke. As the last tendril left him, his life was extinguished, and he collapsed.

Drawn by the spell, the mist drifted closer to the egg in Natun-Ei hand, and entered it. The woman looked disdainfully at the vessel before crushing it in her fist. The liquid dripped from her hand and pooled on the floor of the hut.

She then turned on her son. '_Don't ever disobey me like that ever again, boy!' _she said harshly, then gathered the child up in her arms. Outside, the few remaining Dunmer gave up the battle, casting their shields down and retreating into the marsh. The hunters followed them, tracking every last one down and slaying them. The Argonian village, and their way of life, was safe once againn


End file.
